Your Character's Name: Virgil Bates We woke up on an overpass looking out over a vast panorama of the natural world reclaiming its birthright. On the horizon, buildings are silhouetted, and it gives me the impression of scenery for a puppet show. Black shadows that imply a great city once stood, without any of the substance. All the world’s a stage, with a crumby backdrop, I bitterly thought as I eased my loafers onto my feet. I was empty, tired, and apathetic; I wish I was at home with a family that loves me or barring that, my old gang. They were the best so I doubt they are rotting in a ditch somewhere, so the question remains: why am I alone? Everyone has abandoned me.
Last night we separated before slumber. Ursa and her bear slept a ways apart as always while I made do with a piece of cardboard as close to our fire as possible. I started a fire using siphoned gas and a seat out of the husk of a nearby truck. No, nobody was impressed or thankful. Mercury slept with his back against the barricade of the overpass, his gun at his side, loaded.
The kid slept close to the bear. I was first to take him under our collective wing but this night I shy away from him. I don’t think I would make a good father figure, half mad and half dead. If we were practical we would have set up watches to prevent raiders from killing us in our sleep. But we did not. I worry my companions think the greatest threat to them isn’t out there in the wastes but right next to them. They think I’m dangerous, I see it in their eyes.
After a short breakfast of salty trail mix for the nth day in succession I looked at my notebook, reviewing the code I had copied from the various tattoos and scars from the child’s body. I stared at it for seconds before losing my patience. It stays a mystery.
We blundered our way inside a mall that looked inhabited today. Two armed men greeted us behind the barrels of a shotgun and assault rifle, demanding to know who were. They wore matching robes caked all manner of bodily fluids. Merc asked where he could score “rundown” hopefully to endear himself to the menacing pair. It dawned on me that these men were strung out on this ‘Rundown’, they clearly suffered brain damage, but in my experience a man in the midst of a Rundown binge could be more dangerous then a pack of Horsemen.
I must look something of a “Fuddy-duddy” to everyone involved because the street-drug in my heyday was “Nostalgia.” It was a mellowing hallucinogen that made users forget their worries and dredged up good memories, impossibly spotless ones where everything was right. I went as far to use the word “home-brother” but was unable to convince these men we did not want their terrible drugs.
At this point the men’s drug-addled friends come, and Merc yells something about not helping them kill their friends for their Rundown. Classic divide and conquer, but entirely preemptive and unnecessary. The leader turns and explains that the stranger is lying and that they should beat him. At this point I panic and try to win these hard men over with dazzling lights opposed to well chosen words. I offer my kaleidoscope to one of the men and instruct him how to use it as a childlike grin stretches across his face. I call the others over, distracting them from my ally. I begin cajoling with these similarly dressed, rough men, asking their names, their favorite animals, and how they were doing.
The leader lowers his shotgun from Mercury’s head and wonders aloud where the girl is. I resist my natural urge to do a double-take (a showman at heart mother said). Where IS Ursa? I know she was around when Mercury’s beating started but that was ages ago. Had she flaked on us? This woman cares more about random strangers then us. Why am I traveling with any of these people? Has my loneliness finally overpowered my sense of self-preservation?
My two new friends mention that they are Horsemen of the Apocalypse. My blood chills, and I know what I must do. These men will die here, by my hand, if it kills me. I swore an oath, and as gentleman, my word is paramount. Plans begin to weave in my head as before and I feel a sense of clarity I have not felt for ages. I show my notebook and press upon the philistine that I am a chemist of the highest caliber. Since childhood I have been a terrible liar, so I let others make conclusions and assumptions. When he fails to add one and one I outright offer to make a new drug for them. I leave with the Horseman, heading back to their lab. Now Merc is facing a single adversary with a club, as I draw this gentleman with a machine gun away, deeper into the mall, leaving one looking through a tube at the sky. These seem to be the best odds I can give you, hold on. I tread deeper into the lion’s den.
If I find Ursa I wonder if I should protect her, or leave her to her fate as she did Mercury and myself. Near a kiosk we meet up with their leader who is focused intently on a cardboard box, transfixed. High as a kite. They lead me to their lab. Another Horseman is hunched over an array of crappy beakers and chemicals. I survey the tools with which I plan on saving Mercury’s life, and my own. The Horsemen were stoked to get a taste of some fantastic new narcotic that only my scientific mind could cook up.
Odds are Mercury will be bloody paste by the time I finish this. I hurry up my science, wiping my sweaty brow. I picked up a test tube, and began to concoct a poison as best I could. All for one and all that.
We woke up on an overpass looking out over a vast panorama of the natural world reclaiming its birthright. On the horizon, buildings are silhouetted, and it gives me the impression of scenery for a puppet show. Black shadows that imply a great city once stood, without any of the substance. All the world’s a stage, with a crumby backdrop, I bitterly thought as I eased my loafers onto my feet. I was empty, tired, and apathetic; I wish I was at home with a family that loves me or barring that, my old gang. They were the best so I doubt they are rotting in a ditch somewhere, so the question remains: why am I alone? Everyone has abandoned me.
Last night we separated before slumber. Ursa and her bear slept a ways apart as always while I made do with a piece of cardboard as close to our fire as possible. I started a fire using siphoned gas and a seat out of the husk of a nearby truck. No, nobody was impressed or thankful. Mercury slept with his back against the barricade of the overpass, his gun at his side, loaded.
The kid slept close to the bear. I was first to take him under our collective wing but this night I shy away from him. I don’t think I would make a good father figure, half mad and half dead. If we were practical we would have set up watches to prevent raiders from killing us in our sleep. But we did not. I worry my companions think the greatest threat to them isn’t out there in the wastes but right next to them. They think I’m dangerous, I see it in their eyes.
After a short breakfast of salty trail mix for the nth day in succession I looked at my notebook, reviewing the code I had copied from the various tattoos and scars from the child’s body. I stared at it for seconds before losing my patience. It stays a mystery.
We blundered our way inside a mall that looked inhabited today. Two armed men greeted us behind the barrels of a shotgun and assault rifle, demanding to know who were. They wore matching robes caked all manner of bodily fluids. Merc asked where he could score “rundown” hopefully to endear himself to the menacing pair. It dawned on me that these men were strung out on this ‘Rundown’, they clearly suffered brain damage, but in my experience a man in the midst of a Rundown binge could be more dangerous then a pack of Horsemen.
I must look something of a “Fuddy-duddy” to everyone involved because the street-drug in my heyday was “Nostalgia.” It was a mellowing hallucinogen that made users forget their worries and dredged up good memories, impossibly spotless ones where everything was right. I went as far to use the word “home-brother” but was unable to convince these men we did not want their terrible drugs.
At this point the men’s drug-addled friends come, and Merc yells something about not helping them kill their friends for their Rundown. Classic divide and conquer, but entirely preemptive and unnecessary. The leader turns and explains that the stranger is lying and that they should beat him. At this point I panic and try to win these hard men over with dazzling lights opposed to well chosen words. I offer my kaleidoscope to one of the men and instruct him how to use it as a childlike grin stretches across his face. I call the others over, distracting them from my ally. I begin cajoling with these similarly dressed, rough men, asking their names, their favorite animals, and how they were doing.
The leader lowers his shotgun from Mercury’s head and wonders aloud where the girl is. I resist my natural urge to do a double-take (a showman at heart mother said). Where IS Ursa? I know she was around when Mercury’s beating started but that was ages ago. Had she flaked on us? This woman cares more about random strangers then us. Why am I traveling with any of these people? Has my loneliness finally overpowered my sense of self-preservation?
My two new friends mention that they are Horsemen of the Apocalypse. My blood chills, and I know what I must do. These men will die here, by my hand, if it kills me. I swore an oath, and as gentleman, my word is paramount.
Plans begin to weave in my head as before and I feel a sense of clarity I have not felt for ages. I show my notebook and press upon the philistine that I am a chemist of the highest caliber. Since childhood I have been a terrible liar, so I let others make conclusions and assumptions. When he fails to add one and one I outright offer to make a new drug for them. I leave with the Horseman, heading back to their lab. Now Merc is facing a single adversary with a club, as I draw this gentleman with a machine gun away, deeper into the mall, leaving one looking through a tube at the sky. These seem to be the best odds I can give you, hold on. I tread deeper into the lion’s den.
If I find Ursa I wonder if I should protect her, or leave her to her fate as she did Mercury and myself. Near a kiosk we meet up with their leader who is focused intently on a cardboard box, transfixed. High as a kite. They lead me to their lab. Another Horseman is hunched over an array of crappy beakers and chemicals. I survey the tools with which I plan on saving Mercury’s life, and my own. The Horsemen were stoked to get a taste of some fantastic new narcotic that only my scientific mind could cook up.
Odds are Mercury will be bloody paste by the time I finish this. I hurry up my science, wiping my sweaty brow. I picked up a test tube, and began to concoct a poison as best I could. All for one and all that.